


Touch and Go

by somethingofatrainwreck



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, F/M, Girl Power, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingofatrainwreck/pseuds/somethingofatrainwreck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dynamic between Bellamy and Clarke has always been a bit touch and go. He thinks she's an over-privileged know it all and she thinks he's an arrogant jackass (or so she had written on his plastic top hat last New Year’s Eve... he retaliated by writing “Princess Buzzkill” on her shiny tiara in his best cursive). The thing is, Reyes is injured, the tournament is in a month, and he made that stupid bet with Anya. He needs Griffin if he wants to win this thing….and she knows it.  </p><p>AKA the bar-league touch football tournament for charity AU that's so crazy it just might work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a few of these fluffy romantic comedy style Au's on my computer, I've been working on them a lot recently.....call it a coping mechanism. This one was really fun to write. Its nice to create a world where these characters' biggest worries are winning a touch football tournament. So without further ado.....its light...its fluffy...I hope you enjoy!

Part 1

“Alright this is…this is horrible but we can get through it guys. I know we can.”

“Oh god Monty shut up! It’s over alright! It’s over! We’re done for! Our dreams have been shredded, pissed on, and buried under two tons of trash soaked through with…..”

“Maybe if you’d get up and act like a man…”

“Don’t tell me to act like a man, not after what I’ve seen! It…it literally moved, it cracked in half, I SAW IT CRACK IN HALF!”

“It did not crack in half.”

“And now everything is ruined and Bellamy is going to kill all of us.”

“Jasper, get up.”

“No!”

“Come on man.”

“I said no!”

When Bellamy Blake finally walks into the room for a visual confirmation of the conversation he’d been eavesdropping on he finds Jasper Jordan sprawled out on his back across two tables chugging an old bottle of Root Beer Schnapps with his shirt pulled up over his head to cover his eyes. Monty Green is sitting on a chair next to him with his head in his hands, three cellphones and a lap top laid out in the space that Jasper’s body isn’t occupying. Bellamy quickly glances around and finds Miller behind the bar. He’s pointing the remote control at the TV and cursing when it barely works. After about a minute he seems to give up and chucks the thing across the room with a silent fury. He hears it fall to the floor somewhere around the pool table. 

He stands in contemplative silence for a second because _this_ is his place and _these_ are his people. 

How the fuck has he not gone out of business?

“Alright ladies,” he says as he lets the door to his office slam behind him, “what happened? I’ve been calling you three for hours.”

“We left you a voicemail.” Jasper mumbles through his shirt.

“Yeah, no, no what you left me was a recording of a grown man sobbing and begging for forgiveness. What I need to know is what the fuck happened.”

When all Jasper does is sniffle again Bellamy walks over to his makeshift bed and kicks the legs of the tables apart sending Jasper tumbling to the floor. Monty, who is gripping his laptop protectively to his chest, hangs his head and starts to mumble a story.

“We picked Raven up after her class because she promised to teach Jasper how to play basketball so he could impress Harper this weekend. We got to the courts and you know how Jasper can get. One thing lead to another and …”

“And?”

“And Raven cracked her leg in half!” Jasper sobbed from the floor.

“WHAT?!”

“That’s…that’s an exaggeration. She has a minor fracture and a sprained knee,” Monty clarified.

“HOW?!”

“She went up and she just…..came down too fast man, it was horrible. I swear to God I heard it!”

“Are you fucking kidding me Jordan?!” Bellamy leans down and pulls his friend up by the shirt collar. “We have a month until the tournament and you handicap our quarterback in a pick-up basketball game? Why couldn’t you have asked someone else to teach you? Anyone else?!”

“Because you and Wick would have laughed in my face, Monty is pathetic, Murphy is mean, I’m not allowed to be near Octavia when you aren’t around, her boyfriend scares me, and I don’t have many other friends!”

“What about Miller?!”

“Oh no,” Miller adds from his spot behind the bar, “I will never have _anything_ to do with his love life again. When it comes to girls every intelligent thing about him just seeps out through all that sweat. It’s disgusting, it’s embarrassing, and it’s the reason I have a goddamn record.”

“To be fair, she never told me the car was stolen.”

“So you’re telling me that we’re out a quarterback?” Bellamy demands. “You’re telling me that I put two thousand dollars down against Anya and we don’t have a fucking quarterback?”

“I know you expect me to say yes, because you know…yes that’s all true, but I feel like it’s going to make everything worse.”

“There’s no way this could get any worse! We are so fucked.”

“We can find someone else.”

“Someone else? Who else Jasper? Do you think there’s an unlimited amount of women in this city who are willing to commit hours of their time to a bar league football tournament? It’s not exactly classy! We’ve got a better chance of you growing a fucking uterus than finding someone as talented as Reyes.”

“I still think it’s incredibly sexist that we can’t play just because we’re guys. I mean….just because I’m muscular doesn’t mean I’ll hurt them.”

“First, and I want to emphasize this because I feel like you use this word as a self-descriptor way too frequently, you are not muscular nor are you buff, burly, or robust and second, you’re argument isn’t valid because you just played a basketball game with a woman and BROKE HER LEG!”

“GRAVITY BROKE HER LEG!” Jasper yelled back, “If anything I was an accomplice…that carries a much lighter sentence. Right Miller?”

Jasper is spared from a slow and painful death with Bellamy’s hands around his neck when the front door swings open and a hobbling, cursing, furious Raven Reyes (and her new crutches) command the attention of the room with a loud “LISTEN UP DOUCHECANOES!”

Monty immediately jumps up to help her, but Raven just sort of shoves him out of the way as she limps past. Jasper leans against the table -his eyes darting back and forth between Raven and Bellamy as if trying to decide who the bigger threat is- before settling on the bottle of Schnapps at his feet.

“As it turns out, I’m out of commission for the next few months, _thank you Jasper_ ,”

“Inadvertent!” 

“and so, I can’t play in the tournament.”

“Are you sure?” Bellamy asks desperately as he stalks over to her “Maybe we can just wrap it really tight and ….give you a shot of something.”

“A shot of something?”

“Yeah, I don’t know ….Monty isn’t there some kind of super complicated enzyme you could create or something?”

“I mean, I don’t think enzyme is really the word I’d use but…”

“I’m not taking a shot of anything except for whiskey….” she huffs and arranges herself on the stools with her crutches resting at her side “Now Miller, right now!”

Bellamy groans and sits down next to her. Miller, like the good bartender he is, places a shot in front of his boss as well. 

“Salud” Raven says with a bitter smirk as she throws it back. Bellamy just makes a whining noise.

“You have to find someone else.” She says “I can coach her. I can do everything from the sidelines but I can’t be out there.”

“We’re so fucked.”

“Maybe not.” She mumbles “I’m working on something. It might be crazy, and you’re going to fucking hate it, but it just might work.”

“What does that mean?” Bellamy demands “I’m going to fucking hate it?”

“Love it, hate it, love it , hate it, it’s never been all that clear to me.”

“I’m sorry is unnecessary cryptic taunting a symptom of getting rocked by Jordan…”

“I was not _rocked_ by Jordan!” she spins on her stool and puts her finger in his face “It was mostly physics.”

“I told you!” Jasper yells from somewhere behind them where Bellamy hopes Monty has had the good sense to take the Schnapps away.

“I need to beat Anya.” Bellamy says “O leaves for school in the fall, the last thing I need is to be out $2,000.”

“Well, if winning is all that you’re worried about than you can trust me. I’m 78% sure I have a plan.”

“Good odds” Miller snorts.

“In fact,” Raven continues as she glances down at the time on her phone “any minute now you should….”

They all look up as the front door opens again. Bellamy is about to yell that they don’t open for another two hours until he sees who it is: blonde hair, blue eyes, hideous mint green scrubs, and an asinine sense of entitlement that can suck the joy out of the room almost instantly.

“Hey Clarke!” Miller greets with a smile and a wave. Monty and Jasper echo him, but Jasper’s “Clarke” sounds more like a “Claire”.

Clarke waves back. Bellamy is pleased to see her roll her eyes when they finally rest on him. “Raven,” she says “You left your medicine in my car. Right after you promised me you would take it… _literally_ right afterwards.”

“Sorry Doctor Griffin.” Raven beams “But hey now that you’re here, come in for a drink! You’re done work for the day right?”

Clarke walks over and slips the pill bottle into Raven’s purse. “You shouldn’t be drinking while you’re taking this.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and hits her with a fake-cough _typical_ that has her face contorting in poorly concealed rage. 

The dynamic between Bellamy and Clarke had always been a bit touch and go. He thought she was an over-privileged know it all and she thought he was an arrogant, self-serving jackass (or so she had written on his plastic top hat last New Year’s Eve....he retaliated by writing “Princess Buzzkill” on her shiny tiara in his best cursive). 

“I’m just gonna go Raven, I don’t like being in the same room as Blake unless there’s at least a fifteen person buffer zone.”

“Oh come on Clarke, just one drink. I just have something I want to run by you..... you know as a bit of a favor.”

As Bellamy watches Raven begin the guilt trip that would probably last for the next ten minutes a few facts start to resurface in his mind:

1\. Clarke still feels guilty about unknowingly dating Raven’s serious boyfriend Finn the fuckbucket so she’d probably end up doing anything Raven asked simply out of guilt.

2\. Clarke was an athlete in college. She played the fuck out of field hockey and then that game they try to pass off as lacrosse for girls. She wasn’t bad, pretty intense, but not bad. 

3\. She maintains a rather…healthy physique. She’s in the gym almost every night (he knows because sometimes he’ll take the treadmill next to her and sprint to the point of pain just on the off chance that she may lose control trying to keep up and fly off the back of the treadmill)

4\. Others at this bar, namely everyone except for maybe Murphy, were pretty fond of Clarke and vice versa. She’d been on their trivia team for a while, until Bellamy’s heckling chased her off. (Octavia had forced him send flowers to apologize for that one….maybe not _forced_ him but whatever.)

All of this, combined with the look on Raven’s face and the cast on her leg….

“No!” he says as he waves his hand in front of Raven’s face to disrupt her conversation with Clarke, “No, no I hate it. I don’t like this plan. I don’t want it. No.”

“Well too bad because it’s the only option we have.”

“Bullshit, we put a skirt on Jordan….some duct tape…disposable razors ….helium maybe…this isn’t the only way.”

“Yes it is Bellamy. You want to win don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then shut the fuck up and leave the room. This will be so much easier if you’re not in her line of sight.”

“I’m sorry, what’s going on?” Clarke asks. 

Raven spins and smiles at her “Do you remember I was telling you about the Unity Day tournament,”

“The powder puff thing?”

“It’s not powder puff!” Raven snaps “it’s just an all-female, touch football tournament. It’s all the local bars in the area, it’s to raise money for breast cancer awareness…”

“Oh that’s great! When is it? Maybe I can promote it at the hospital. Did you need a donation or something because I’d be more than happy…”

“Yeah, yeah it is like a donation.” Raven beams.

“Except that it’s not.” Bellamy chimes in.

“It really is.”

“But it’s totally not.”

“It’s a donation of your time, and athletic ability, some good old fashioned blood, sweat, and tears …hopefully minus the tears.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up and suddenly she’s frantically shaking her head “Oh no, no, no, no, no, no!”

“Come on Clarke.”

“No! No, I’m not running around a field….”

“You ran around plenty of fields in college!”

“Not with HIM as the coach!” she points at Bellamy who smirks proudly.

“Well that’s…I mean yeah that’s true but Clarke, I’ll be your coach too. You’d be filling in for me, so you’d work with me and it’s only a few weekends.”

“Hold on, hold on, who said that she’s even good enough to…”

“Don’t start with me Bellamy.”

“I’m just saying you’re not much use to us if you can’t even throw a football Princess.”

Clarke takes a step around Raven and glares up into Bellamy’s face “I can throw a football.”

“Sure you can.”

“In fact, judging by that gangled wobbly mess of a throw I see in your backyard almost every Sunday, I can throw a football much better than you.”

He shakes his head “No. No there is nothing _gangled_ , not a word by the way, or wobbly about my throw…”

“You played in high school didn’t you? Oh wait no, no you had a long standing appointment with Dr. Bench to sort out your little performance anxiety issues. I’m sure you’re incredibly accurate if everyone watching just turns their back every time the ball leaves your hands.”

This is the point where all the fun banter that has been misconstrued by many as “flirting” turns into really cruel personal jabs usually accompanied by increased volumes and someone yelling “Seriously Bellamy?”

“This is serious Griffin. The last thing I need is some hot headed, over pampered princess storming from the field because the ball made her delicate little hands chaff.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows “Fifty bucks right now.”

“What?”

“Outside, fifty bucks says I can throw a better pass than you.”

“Come on Princess.”

“I’ll even make it easier for you, we’ll do it in the alley so no one can see. That way you don’t clam up and collapse into the fetal position.”

They both ignore the _“that’s what she said”_ Jasper mumbles into his hand. 

Bellamy sneers at her but reaches his hand out “Fifty bucks.”

“And a spot on the team.”

“You want to be on the team?!” Raven asks excitedly.

“If he doesn’t want me to be, of course I do.”

Bellamy stares at her. “I don’t think so.”

“Well look at it this way, you want everyone here to respect you, big boss-man Bellamy Blake, but right now they're thinking only one of us is scared. Be a man, put your money where your mouth is, and let’s go.”

He glares at her one more time before crushing her hand in his. She doesn’t even blink.

“Miller, do you still have a ball in your car?” he asks without looking away from the blue eyed she-devil.

“Yup.”

“Bring it, outside in the alley, five minutes.” He squeezes her hand one more time (wow, they held on for a while there didn’t they?) and steps back menacingly. Clarke just smirks and storms towards the back door, swinging her hips as she goes.

“That was so hot.” Jasper says from where he’s managed to prop himself up on the bar. “Seriously, that’s…that’s the kind of foreplay the pornos are missing…”

“Jesus Jordan, shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just saying, look at Raven she gets it.”

Raven laughs and raises her eyebrows. “I just hope that after that little alpha male display you don’t go out there and embarrass yourself.”

“Yeah,” Monty chimes in, “Clarke is a force of nature.”

Oh, he knows.

When he makes it out to the alley Clarke and Miller are tossing the ball back and forth. Clarke’s smiling and laughing so he can’t really discern any skill, but she does seem to know how to grip the ball correctly. Suddenly he’s a little bit nervous.

 

XXooXX

 

“She cheated.” His jaw is set, his fists clenched, he’s staring at Miller daring him to disagree. 

“How could she have cheated?” he asks as he jogs to retrieve the ball Bellamy had thrown in rage when Clarke had patted him on the shoulder and complimented him on “trying very hard.”

“You could have caught that last one," he accuses “Did she pay you off? Is that what this is?”

“You threw it five feet over my head Bellamy, it was uncatchable. It’s just fifty bucks and now we have a decent quarterback. I don’t understand why you’re so pissed off.”

“Why am I pissed off? Because she’s in there right now telling everyone that she beat me when she didn’t. It’s not even about the fifty bucks, I could give a fuck about that, it’s her. I don’t want her on the team.”

“Look man, you’re gonna have to decide what’s more important here: being able to help with Octavia’s tuition or your stupid little feud with Clarke.”

“I know what she’d going to do Miller. She’s going to try to take over. She’s gonna undermine everything I say and act like she’s the one in charge because that’s what she always does.”

“Bellamy, you’re a grown man. This is ridiculous.”

Bellamy plants his hands on his hips and glares at the wall above the entrance to the bar. “Fine,” he says “She’s on the team whatever.”

“It’ll be fine. Just focus on winning, that’s what’s important here.”

The thing is Bellamy knows it’ll feel like less of a win if he has Clarke to thank for it.

“We should go back in,” he says with a groan, “we have to open in an hour.”

“Octavia works tonight?”

“I think so. God she’s gonna make a big deal out of this. She and Clarke played field hockey together in high school. She used to call them the dream team.”

Miller snorts and mumbles something that sounds like “Well that makes more sense.”

Bellamy stops just as his hand closes around the door knob. “What makes more sense?”

Miller scratches awkwardly at his beanie and turns the phone he’d been staring at to face Bellamy.

There’s a picture of his beaming sister with her arms wrapped tightly around Clarke (who is holding up his 50 and winking dramatically)

**Octavia Blake: WE’RE BACK BITCHES! #unityday #dreamteam**

“I can always count on my sister to live tweet my misery.” Bellamy snarls as he pushes Miller’s phone away.

“Hey, you’re gonna be cool about this right?”

“Of course I am.”

He’s not.

An hour later Clarke storms from the bar after ripping his fifty in half and throwing it in his face. No one speaks to him for a while after that….because maybe spraying her with seltzer water was a little much. Octavia purposefully drops three glasses before Bellamy finally caves and pulls out his phone.

 **Sorry.** He texts, and God does he wish she could see how much his fingers don’t want to press send.

Ten minutes later his phone buzzes.

**Dr. Killjoy: I know you think you can scare me away, but I don’t care how much of an asshole you are. I will play in that tournament, and we’re going to win.**

**Fine.** This time he presses send so hard he nearly cracks his phone. 

**Dr. Killjoy: Game on.**

 

XXooXX

 

“Alright ladies, let’s get this over with.” Bellamy says as he sits down with his clipboard in his lap. “We’ve got a little over three weeks until the tournament. That means for the next 21 days I expect you to eat, sleep, and breathe football. No more gossiping about nail polish, watching Real Housewives of wherever the fuck, or picking up lonely losers in my bar. For the next 21 days I expect you to read through these plays, actually watch a game on TV, and for the love of God pay attention to more than Tom Brady’s jawline…”

“I’m here!” Everyone looks up from glaring at Bellamy to see Clarke rushing in in her scrubs “I’m so sorry.”

“Well look who’s finally decided to show up. I’m impressed Griffin, we haven’t even started practices and you’ve already earned yourself some laps.”

“Laps?” she asks with a snort as she grabs a playbook from the pile on the bar and sits on the nearest stool. “I’m not doing laps Blake.”

“You can’t just show up whenever you want Princess,”

“I was assisting in a surgery that took a little longer than expected. Should I have abandoned the twelve year old boy getting a kidney transplant on the operating table?”

Bellamy glares at her as the other women smile and stare at her with admiration. “Is the boy going to be okay?” Monroe asks.

Clarke smiles “I think so, I’ll check back in with him in the morning but everything seemed….”

“Can we please just get on with the meeting?” Bellamy snaps.

Clarke smirks at him “Of course Coach Blake.”

“Without interruptions.”

She mimes zipping her lips and throwing away the key, but he knows she’s just mocking him. Sure enough not five minutes later she throws her hand in the air like she’s in a high school biology class.

“What?” he whines with an exasperated sigh. 

“A lot of these plays are designed for Raven.”

“So what?”

“So, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not nearly as fast as she is.” She closes her playbook and shakes her head at him “We can’t run the wildcat, I’m not a wildcat quarterback.”

“Whoa, whoa, there are two or three trick plays, we aren’t _running the wildcat._ ”

“It seems like we’re running the wildcat.”

“What cat are we talking about?” Harper asks nervously.

“If you’re so adamant about it, you’re gonna have to put someone else in the backfield. I’m telling you I don’t have the speed.” Clarke says seriously. 

“Clarke, shut up. We are not running the wildcat. We aren’t running anything, this is a bar league touch football tournament, you’re not going up against the Green Bay Packers. I think you can manage a few rush plays.”

“There’s like six”

“Will you just…”

“Can someone please fill us in.” Octavia demands “What the fuck is the wildcat?”

“It’s a type of offense where you replace the quarterback with a running back or a…..”

“First of all, it’s not a type of offense, it’s an offensive formation. It doesn’t apply to us because these are just basic plays. I’m sorry to have to tell you this Clarke, but you don’t have a future in the NFL, so if you’re finished trying to over-analyze my playbook can we get back to business please?”

“You know my dad was assistant coach at ASU for most of my childhood. I do know a little bit about football.”

“I’m aware, but you aren’t the coach here. All we need to accomplish this afternoon is arranging practice times.”

“Are we also going to have some training sessions in the gym because…”

“Clarke I swear to God.”

She shuts up eventually, mostly because he almost breaks his clipboard over his knee when she asks if he bought new (sterile) water bottles for the sideline because she knew for a fact that Murphy had puked all over the old ones at last summer’s volleyball tournament.

 

XXooXX

 

“I hate her.” He says to Wick once the team has vacated the bar.

Wick grins at him. “You fucking do not," he says through a laugh. “What we need is a jar you can put a dollar in every time you and Clarke clear the room with your impenetrable sexual tension.”

Bellamy doesn’t even bother to shoot him a dirty look. Wick won’t care. He’ll laugh in his face and make up some bullshit about how Bellamy is proving his point with his frustration. 

“And hey,” Wick continues, “we set that jar up for a month or two and what do you know? You’ll have yourself a quarter of a million dollars and we can put this bet nonsense to bed.”

“I’m not worried about the bet.” Bellamy says confidently.

“You probably should be, Indra is home.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t know, last week. I saw it on Facebook.”

“What good is Octavia dating a fucking grounder when we don’t even get insider information?”

“I don’t know Bell but this is a game changer, maybe you should think about….”

“I am NOT calling off the bet, two thousand dollars is two thousand dollars. I’m not afraid of Anya or her crazy cousin. We can beat them.”

When Wick doesn’t argue back he actually starts to think he’s won, until he notices the horror in the bartender’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, you _bet_ on a game for charity?”

He hears Clarke’s voice and freezes. She might not actually be there, he swears that horrible, shrill voice in his head that screams every time he does something he knows is fucked up sounds just like her.

“Bellamy you cannot be serious.”

He slowly turns to face her. She must have been grabbing the bag Raven left behind on her bar-stool. It hangs clenched in her fist now as she glares at him. He hears the unmistakable sound of Wick tripping over himself to avoid conflict and takes a deep breath.

“It’s just a friendly little wager….”

“Two thousand dollars? Two thousand dollars is little? All that money could go towards the cause Bellamy, how could you be so selfish?!”

“It’s really none of your business Griffin.” He snaps.

“If you think I’m going to play for a team that’s using a charity event for its own profit…”

“We’re still making our donation to the charity, what I have with Anya is completely separate…”

“It doesn’t make it any less greedy!”

“The money isn’t even for me! I’m not fucking keeping it!”

“Then what’s the point? Why risk two thousand dollars….”

“O got into Brown.”

Clarke’s fists unclench, “I know.”

“And she’s ….she’s getting some financial aid but ….she’s still a little bit short for her first semester. I don’t want her to have to take out a loan okay? Interest rates are fucking ridiculous and it’s only her first semester! At this rate she’ll be $200,000 in debt by the time she gets out.”

Clarke’s face is relaxed now, but she’s still staring at him because shes always expected him to completely bare his soul to her, even when he’s made it perfectly clear that she’s one of his top three least favorite people on Earth. 

“Look, we just did the remodel on the kitchen, I’m still paying on that. It’s been tight. I made the bet with Anya because I could really use an extra $2,000 to make sure my sister doesn’t spend her life working in a bar. We don’t have a trust fund to use as a safety net princess. So yeah, I’m gambling on the game. You can get over it or you can walk.”

He knows that adding in the little quip about her parent’s money was a low blow, but he hated that she was looking at him like that. He wanted to see her angry. That’s when they worked best, that’s when they understood each other, pissed off Clarke was terrifying to most people….somehow she felt safe to him. He tries to remember that as she stalks over and jabs her finger into his chest.

“You know Goddamn well that I didn’t touch that money. I did med school on my own, a AM $200,000 in debt. I understand what you’re doing for Octavia, but I’m sick and fucking tired of your little princess jokes. I haven’t spoken to my mother in three years, I drive a 2003 Buick that doesn’t even have functional power steering, I still can’t afford to buy a washer and dryer for my apartment because my credit is awful. I would hate for Octavia to come out of school the way I did. I don’t want her to ever experience this, so I don’t give a fuck what you do, but you need to watch your mouth because I’ve seriously had it.”

And there’s that horrible shrill little voice yelling at him for being an asshole. “I took it too far," he mumbles, “my fault.”

She narrows her eyes “It’s impossible for you to apologize to my face isn’t it? You can send flowers, text messages, free drinks, but you can’t just say it.”

No, he can’t. He really, really can’t. The look of frustration and disappointment on her face hits him harder than he expected.

“Forget it,” she says “business as usual. I’ll see you at practice.”

He watches her leave with the words on his tongue _“I’m sorry, seriously truly sorry.”_ But he doesn’t say anything. He’ll text her later (one word) and she’ll shoot back an insult and they’ll just keep going round and round in circles. 

Everything about his life went constantly round and round in circles. 

 

XXooXX

 

“We’re never going to get anything done if you keep this up," Murphy drones as he sits on the tailgate of Bellamy’s truck and stares out at the “drills” the team is supposed to be running. Bellamy is mildly impressed, they aren’t nearly as pathetic as he was anticipating. The problem is that Clarke keeps pulling girls to the side and whispering things to them, like she’s a coach…..which she isn’t. Bellamy has stopped the drill and yelled at her three or four times at this point. He’s biting a hole in his lip trying to keep himself from stopping them again.

“She needs to remember who is in charge here.”

“If they’re actually catching the ball, why does it matter…”

“Because it does.”

“Personally, I’m glad Clarke is around,” Raven says, looking up from the notebook she’d been using to work on a project for her engineering class. “I had no idea she knew as much about football as she does. We should have asked her to play from the beginning.”

Bellamy takes the whistle he had been about to blow from between his lips and shakes his head at her. “She doesn’t know that much about football.”

“Her dad was assistant coach at….”

“I know who her Dad was Raven.”

“I’m just saying, it can’t hurt to let her help. She’s having fun. I’ve never seen her smile like that.”

He ignores Raven and blows the whistle. Clarke glares at him from across the field. “Alright ladies, let’s work on defense. Clarke you can hang back.”

“What?”

“Murphy has one of those inflatable wide receivers with the targets painted on him in his truck, work with that for a little while.”

“You want me to play with a carnival game?”

Bellamy smiles, “That way you can work on your mechanics.”

She narrows her eyes at him, “I don’t need to work on my mechanics.”

“Really? Because your motion is horrible.”

“Tim Tebow’s motion was horrible, it worked out fine for him.”

“Isn’t he an announcer on the SEC network now?”

“I’m sorry, have you ever won a BCS championship, Heisman, or an NFL Wildcard game?”

“It was ONE play.”

“Tebow to Thomas,” she says with a smile,“God I made so much money off of you that night.”

“I’m not gonna sit here and argue with you about Tim Tebow _again_  
.”  
“Well good, it’s a waste of our time.”

“All I have to say is Iron Bowl 2013.” He smiles brightly and walks away “War damn Eagle!”

“Fuck you Bellamy!”

“Have fun with your blow up doll.”

Ten minutes later Clarke “accidently” pops the inflatable receiver with what she describes as pass with a “spiral so tight it hit like a missile” but what Bellamy is pretty sure was just her car keys.

 

XXooXX

 

“Let’s make this quick okay?” Bellamy yells over the whispers and laughter of his team. “We’ve got a week left before the tournament. There’s a meeting down at Mt Weather tomorrow to finalize rosters and draw our first game. That means that before we leave today you all need to decide on a team Captain.”

“I vote Clarke.” Monroe says.

“Well, just think about it. You need to choose someone that can represent the team..”

“Definitely Clarke,” Harper agrees.

Bellamy tries to pretend like he isn’t annoyed. “Okay, but obviously Clarke isn’t the only candidate.”

“Let’s call a vote,” Octavia says as she turns to look at her team, “those in favor of Clarke for team Captain?”

Every hand goes up (except for Clarke and Bellamy)

“Looks like it’s decided big brother.” She smiles and thumps him on the shoulder.

Clarke, who has been sitting quietly suppressing a smirk, moves to the front of the group to stand next to Bellamy. His got that look on his face, the one that guarantees he’ll spend ten minutes sitting in his truck hitting his steering wheel in fury before peeling out of the parking lot. 

“Look,” she says, “I just want to say that I’m so glad I decided to do this. You’re all so great and I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Football used to be really important to my family, it’s nice to be so close to it again. I think we have a really good chance,” she smiles. “I know we can win.”

The girls all cheer and clap, and Bellamy realizes with horror that his face has actually slipped into a smile for a minute. Luckily he replaces it with a glare the second Clarke turns to face him.

“So, what time is the meeting tomorrow?”

“Six,” he says. “We can meet at the bar, drive over together..,”

“Bellamy I can drive myself…”

“You’re not walking down Reaper St. by yourself, it’s Mt Weather Princess. We’ll drive together.”

She smirks “Didn’t realize you cared.”

“I need that arm.”

“Uh huh, well then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, and I almost forgot as team Captain, you get to figure out the uniform situation.”

“What?”

“Keep it under budget.”

“Bellamy, I don’t have time to…”

“See you tomorrow Captain!”

 

XXooXX

 

The meeting is awkward as fuck. Not just because Anya looks at Bellamy like he’s a cochroach (she’s always done that), not just because Clarke and Bellamy haven’t spoken a word to each other since Clarke showed up ten minutes late at the bar (the few words they had exchanged in the car were not exactly harmonious), but because on top of all the regularly scheduled tension, Clarke decided to do everything in her power to piss off half of the people in the room. When it was over, and they had drawn the Ark for their first game, Bellamy had clenched his fists so hard he’d very nearly drawn blood.

“What the fuck was that?” he hisses when they walk to her car.

Clarke rolls her eyes, “What?”

“I understand it if you want to start shit with Anya, seriously I’m on board, but Cage?”

“Bellamy…”

“And Jaha, what the fuck do you have against…”

She turns and points her finger into his face. “You don’t know the first thing about me and Jaha," she snaps. “You were no better than me.”

“Well yeah, but they know I’m an asshole. There’s nothing they can do about it. You’re going to be out on the field Princess….you’re gonna have headhunters….”

“I’m not afraid.” She storms the rest of the way to her car and barely waits for him to climb into the passenger’s seat before gunning it and taking off down Reaper St. Her face is set in a withering stare and her fingers grip the steering wheel in a way that almost looks painful. 

“Well, I have to say I wasn’t expecting this," he says with a grin.

“What?”

“The intensity.” 

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, and he can tell she thinks he’s making fun of her. Instead of answering, she reaches forward and turns up the radio. 

“Don’t get all pissy,” he says with his hands raised in front of him. “I like it.” When he shoots her a flirty wink (that usually has girls blushing and stumbling) she bursts out in laughter.

“You’re an ass you know that?”

Hearing her laugh is so rare that he can’t help joining in. "And yet somewhere, deep down inside you know that you like me.”

“I like your sister.” She says.

“I did raise her.”

“I like your bar.”

“That bar is literally a physical representation of my personality.”

“I like that chili you make…with the chicken and the beans.”

“So my sister, my bar, and my chili, just not me?”

She glances at him and smiles, “Eh, you’re alright.”

It’s not exactly new for them, this banter that almost borders on flirting, but it definitely not an everyday occurrence. They’re good at butting heads. He actually looks forward to arguments most days because there’s a level of comfort and familiarity there…and as much as he doesn’t want to admit it somewhere deep down inside of him…he likes Clarke Griffin. 

“Bellamy!” she yells through her open window when he’s climbs out of the car and fishes his keys from his pocket. ”Here.” she tosses something to him, a square package wrapped in plastic. “That’s just the sample. The shop is standing by for the order if the team approves it. Next time, don’t be a dick and give me more notice!”

She drives off with a sarcastic smile and he pulls the plastic apart. It’s a dark blue T-shirt, the front covered by the image of the night sky, _Fight Like a Girl_ is written in the stars and in the bottom corner is a carbon copy the of sign hanging outside of the bar: **100** (Clarke had always told him that was a stupid name for a bar but they were #10 on tenth street….and it was supposed to be pronounced The Hundred. It was edgy!). On the back there was a giant #1, the name _Blake_ across the top, and on the left sleeve there was a black circle with _AB_ written in white cursive letters.

He takes a deep breath and glances up to watch her car disappear around the corner at the end of the street. It must have been Octavia that told her about their mother the losing battle to breast cancer when O was in middle school. It was the reason Bellamy had proposed the tournament to the other owners four years ago. He closes his eyes tight and runs his fingers over the initials........ His mother would have loved her. 

At this point it’s pretty official….he really likes Clarke Griffin. 

 

**Part 2 Coming Soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this story was a 2 parter- but I'm actually going to make it into 3. I wanted to get what I had written out as soon as possible and I still have a lot more to cover....plus the length of this part started to get away from me ....so I hope you all are still with me and I promise I'll try to get the final part out as soon as I can. Thanks for reading!

**Part 2**

Clarke avoided drinking usually….because of what happened to Wells…or actually probably because of what happened to her after what happened to Wells. 

Drowning your sorrows in Jack Daniels is a lot more dangerous than the country songs make it sound. 

She had taken the semester off, spent half of her savings on hotel rooms in Boston, New York, and Chicago. Those were Well’s “big three”. He had such a fascination with cities…. Old buildings, huge skyscrapers and massive bridges. Clarke had painted him a colossal watercolor of the New York Skyline at night for his 20th birthday. He hung it above his bed. Jaha tried to give it back to her after the accident, so she burned it.

It all started to catch up to her eventually, her mother’s phone calls, her dwindling bank account, and that feeling in the pit of her stomach that Wells would hate every single thing she was doing. She blacked out one Thursday night in a frat party she was crashing at NYU. Luckily the girl she was with (Lexa something) had the good sense to take her to a hospital where she had to have her stomach pumped. It was mortifying but it was a wake-up call.

She was back in Arizona the next Monday, giving her mother the most sincere apology she’d been able to produce in five years and making an appointment with her advisor at school to reenroll. To this day no one really knows about all the stupid shit she did when she felt like her world had fallen apart for the second time. Octavia had asked once, the following Summer when Clarke had first moved into the condo behind their house. Clarke lied with a perfectly straight face, told her she just did some traveling…touring some other schools because she had the urge to transfer. Octavia had just smiled and told her she was thankful she’d decided to stay at ASU. She’d known the Blakes since high school, there was no reason to tarnish their image of her with the truth (even though Bellamy Blake made it perfectly clear that all he saw when he looked at her was an elitist princess….an elitist princess with a drinking problem? He’d have had a goddamn field day.)

That was a long time ago. She spent half of her time in this bar these days. The crowd hadn’t changed much, but in a way she was thankful for that. Her family was a disaster so the solid structure of her circle of friends was comforting. She felt safe drinking under their watchful eyes…even though technically they didn’t know what they were supposed to be watching for. The past was the past. Even though she hadn’t heard Well’s laugh in almost six years….it echoed in the back of her head as she looked around her. She was the quarterback on a touch-football team representing a bar owned by Bellamy Blake in a tournament that he founded (for a great cause of course). Wells would be rolling.

“Clarke!” Jasper says, leaning across the booth and shaking her arm to get her attention. “We were thinking…”

Monty shakes his head “No, _Jasper_ was thinking.”

Jasper ignores him “You know that guy you’re always talking about? The one…the football one.”

“You gotta give me more Jasper.” she says with a smile on her lips.

“The guy Clarke! The one ….you know the one. Bellamy is always calling him overrated and…”

“Tim Tebow?”

“There it is!”

“I do not always talk about Tim Tebow.”

Wick snorts as he comes up to drop another round at their table. “If I had a dollar every time I heard you say that.”

Clarke glares at him “You’re joking right? I seriously do not talk about Tebow…ever..I mean okay maybe a few years ago I had…a little…thing for him but I don’t talk about Tim Tebow.”

Wick raises his eyebrows “There’s a sign behind the bar from ‘09, it says the Florida football games are no longer permitted to be aired on the TV at the bar. I always wondered why…and then I met you.”

She clenches her beer in her hand, “I can’t stand how dramatic you all are. I swear it’s like it radiates off of Bellamy and you’re all stuck here every day breathing it in.”

“Can I get back to my point?” Jasper asks.

Wick smiles and squeezes Raven’s shoulder before heading back to the bar. Clarke definitely takes notice of her friend’s awkward blush and makes a mental note to press her later.

“Hurry it up Jasper, I have to go bond with my team.” That’s why she was there, why Bellamy had insisted that she come. It was the night before the tournament and while Clarke thought they should all be home getting a good night sleep, Bellamy had decided that comradery by keg was a better strategy. 

“So like I said I was thinking, and I decided that if you score tomorrow you should definitely do that thing he does…you know the,” Jasper took his arm and bent it against his head in a pose that looked like ‘The Thinker'. “They call it Tebowing,” he says “I googled it, because I didn’t want you to be unprepared.”

“Let’s get something straight,” Raven says, finally breaking from her Wick-induced slump, “Clarke is the captain on this team…if she scores she needs a touchdown _dance_ not a touchdown pose.”

“I’m not doing a touchdown dance.”

“Bullshit!” Jasper says in an outraged yelp. Surprisingly Monty backs him up, “I was under the impression that it wasn’t really optional Clarke.”

“Of course it is! If I score I’m just gonna set the ball down and walk away…like it’s no big deal and I can do it all day, every day.”

Raven laughs at her…..God she’s starting to sound drunk.

“Come on Clarke! You’ve got a great opportunity to bust out some vintage moves…”

“Are you asking me to do the Electric slide in the end zone?”

“I was thinking something more like the gangnam style dance….or the soulja boy!”

“OH. MY. GOD.” Jasper says as he slams his hands against the table.“If you crank that soulja boy after you score a touchdown I will name my firstborn after you!”

Clarke shakes her head and nudges Raven who stands up on her crutches to let Clarke out of the booth “I’m not cranking anything.”

“Where are you going?”

“To socialize with my teammates….and rip down that stupid sign behind the bar.”

Octavia and a few other girls clap her on the back as she walks by. Monroe orders her a shot when she gets to the bar. It’s a strange feeling….Clarke’s never been one to get along with other girls (O and Raven being the exception, although there were times when even those friendships were strained). This whole experience with the team has been surreal. She’s having fun for the first time in a long time …..and goddamn if she doesn’t have Bellamy Blake to thank for it.

“What’s with the face Princess?”

She looks up from the empty shot glass on the bar and sees him smiling at her. His hair is messier than usual, his freckles standing out against the faint flush on his face. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look like you’re actually having fun.”

“I am having fun!” she says, “It’s been known to happen.”

“Good, you deserve it.”

She narrows her eyes at him, expecting a smarmy joke or back handed compliment to follow his words, instead she gets another smile. 

“You do too,” she says before he can turn his back “just so you know.”

There’s a moment when they just look at each other. They’ve had a few of these over the years, one Christmas Eve she had been absolutely sure he was going to kiss her…they had been interrupted (of course) by Jasper the college freshman passionately quoting Lord of the Rings and falling off of his barstool. The sexual tension is just sort of part of their dynamic. It doesn’t really mean anything. They argue a lot….and they’re both pretty attractive…it wouldn’t be the worst thing if…

Fuck, she’s drunk.

“Just promise me you’ll take it easy Mrs Tebow. I need you on your game tomorrow.”

His little jibe breaks through the fog and Clarke smiles at the familiar prick of annoyance. “That’s actually why I’m here.” she says “Wick told me about that stupid sign. Stop telling people I’m obsessed with Tim Tebow!”

“Stop being obsessed with Tim Tebow.”

“Give me the sign Bellamy.”

“Look, I understand Clarke. Really I do. You shouldn’t be embarrassed. When you’re in love, you’re in love.”

Clarke leans across the bar, like she’s actually thinking about strangling him or flipping over it to remove the sign herself.

“Hey! No civilians behind the bar.” he pushes her shoulder back.

“I’m a captain.”

“And I’m your coach, sit down and I’ll get you another round.”

“Are you going to stop teasing me like an eight year old boy?”

He looks up from the glass he’s filling with ice and beams at her “Never.”

The next thing she knows Harper and Fox are sitting on either side of her. She’s telling them stories from medical school, ridiculous stories about getting her arm stuck in a vending machine during finals week and having to practically step over a couple…doing the do…in the dusty old stacks of the library to find a book for a last minute citation. She never really thought she was funny, but they’re laughing like she’s the most hilarious person they’ve ever met. Sure, it probably has a lot to do with the alcohol but it’s been such a long time since she’s felt like this that for once….she doesn’t want to overanalyze it. 

That night probably would have been fine….but then Anya walks in. 

Most of the people seem to recognize her face as soon as the door closes behind her. She and her cousin Indra only grow more confident as they stare. Clarke can practically feel the confrontation in the air, there’s no reason they would show up here other than wanting to start shit or get into Bellamy’s head (and based on the way he’s clenching his fists, they’re doing just that). They settle in two stools at the end of the bar. Wick goes to take their order. Octavia hovers close to them (she’s dating their cousin so out of all of them it seems less likely they’d attack her). Bellamy is standing in front of Clarke, pointedly ignoring that side of the bar. He looks incredibly uncomfortable. When he catches her eye she smiles at him.

_“If you’re having girl problems I feel bad for you son,”_ she recites. He stares at her for a second, humor and disbelief ….and something that looks almost thankful in his eyes and then he's rapping right back to her. _“I got 99 problems and that bitch ain’t one.”_

Clarke snorts loudly, her laughter drawing the attention of almost everyone around her. Bellamy raises his eyebrows.

“See,” she says “I can be funny.”

“I never said that you weren’t funny.”

Her eyes get wide, “Are you serious? You tell everyone I’m not funny! I’m Dr. Killjoy in your phone! One time I heard you comparing me to a dementor….I didn’t even know you read Harry Potter!”

“Movies.” He winks at her and turns his attention to a few guys sitting to Clarke’s left. She can tell he’s watching Anya out of the corner of his eye, especially as Octavia gets closer. Bellamy has always been fiercely overprotective of his little sister, but in this case…Clarke gets it. Anya isn’t just an unfriendly mountain of a woman who owns a competing bar around the corner…..she’s a retired MMA fighter. Seriously, the entire back wall of her bar is covered in belts and trophies and pictures of her looming over her opponent’s crumpled form with her arms raised in the air. Clarke hadn’t really given much thought to being afraid of her, it was a touch football game after all but…now that she’s really thinking about it…even a touch from Anya would probably be pretty painful.

“We should have scouted them.” She says when Bellamy walks by her to grab a bottle of gin.

He stops and almost smiles, “I thought about it.” He admits “they were practicing on Anya’s Uncle’s land over on the other side of the river. If they would have caught us, she’d have had my ass arrested for trespassing.”

Clarke shrugs “I don’t know, it might have been worth the risk.”

His eyebrows bunch together, like he’s trying to decide whether to be offended, but before he reaches any kind of conclusion the entire bar is filled with the sound of breaking glass. Clarke manages to catch a glimpse of Octavia’s back hitting the wall behind where Anya and Indra had been sitting and without even a second of hesitation….without even a _what would Tebow do?_ She finds herself rushing to the back of the bar, shoving people out of her way, and finally planting her feet in the very small space between Octavia and Anya. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” Clarke says.

A crowd is gathering around them. She can hear Bellamy yelling at people to “get the fuck out of his way,” but all she can really focus on is the narrowing of Anya’s eyes and the clenching of her fists. 

“She owes me and apology.” Indra snaps, nodding at Octavia who looks angrier than Clarke has ever seen her.

Octavia laughs “I don’t owe you shit actually. This is my bar, these people are my family. You came to me.”

“I came to warn you.”

“You came to threaten me.” She tries to take a step forward but Clarke nudges her back with her elbow “but you know what, I don’t care what you think about me and Lincoln and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t either. You’re overestimating your importance in his life Indra he’s….”

“You know nothing about my family!”

“and bringing the washed up former heavy weight champion of whatever the fuck to flex in front of me doesn’t change…..”

“You need to learn respect little girl!”

“And you need to learn to mind your own fucking business!”

It’s this moment that Anya seems to decide that’s she’ tired of talking. Before Octavia can even turn her head in Anya’s direction, her fist flies out and Clarke can’t help but to know exactly what to do. She throws herself back against Octavia, affectively sending her to the floor, and takes the hit (which feels like someone smacking her with a fucking steel pole) right on the side of her face. Someone in the room yells. Clarke takes a breath and tries to remember everything she learned in her self-defense class. Despite the fact that it feels like her head has been split open she turns back towards Anya and thrusts her arm forward, hitting her nose with the heel of her hand. There’s a sickening crunch, a rush of blood and less than five seconds after impact the entire situation dissolves into chaos.

Octavia jumps to her feet and lunges at Indra. Wick comes tearing into the tussle and starts pushing bystanders out of the way. Miller and Bellamy force their way through, yelling at everyone to stop. Anya manages to tackle Clarke to the ground, one hand covering her injured nose, the other pressing against Clarke’s neck. Suddenly a crutch flies in front of Clarke’s face and knocks Anya to the side. Raven attempts to extend Clarke a hand to help her up, but Anya bounces back and grabs Clarke by the shoulder, dragging her to her feet and shoving her against a table. She looks even more terrifying with blood caked on her face, and despite the fact that she’s probably about to die, Clarke actually feels bad for inflicting pain on another person…she’ a doctor for God’s sake.

“I’m sorry about your nose,” she yells “but this has gone too far and…”

Anya starts to square up her shoulders but thankfully….before Clarke has to take another hit, Bellamy forces his way between them. He’s panting and furious and Anya actually takes a step back when she sees him.

“Get out.” He says.

“You have…”

“GET YOUR COUSIN AND GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE THIS GETS WORSE!”

Bellamy screaming silences the bar. Anya makes an angry scoffing noise and wipes the blood from her face. Her eyes scan the crowd, Indra is being held up against the door by Miller who has his other arm pressed against Octavia’s shoulder (while Jasper tries desperately to hold her back). With a nod, Indra pushes away from Miller and storms through the door. Anya spits on the floor at Clarke’s feet and follows. “Tomorrow.” She says.

Clarke can’t even really remember what tomorrow is. Her head is throbbing, her hand is sore, and Octavia is still yelling, but Anya disappears and Clarke has enough sense left to feel relieved.

“Hey,” Bellamy says turning and grabbing her face “are you okay?” he moves her chin back and forth, looking for bruises.

“Is Octavia okay?”

Bellamy’s hands still, he stares at her in disbelief. “Yeah,” he says “she held her own. I’m worried about you..”

“I think I’m okay.” She says. “She got me in the forehead but, I don’t really feel concussed. I’ll probably just have a bruise.”

He looks surprised that she sounds so put together….she’s actually pretty surprised herself. “Clarke,” he says seriously “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just….just let me sit down for a minute and catch my breath.”

He nods and guides her to sit in one of the only chairs around them that hasn’t been furiously overturned.

“I tried,” she says “to get her out of the way, I kind of thought Anya would back down when she realized it was me she hit but I guess not.”

“O’s a little drunk she was just…..sometimes she lets her mouth get the better of her.” He still looks really concerned “ Do you want me to get you some ice?”

“Yeah, actually that would be great.”

He takes a step back and stops “Clarke I…. thank you…you know for…I couldn’t get to her and…”

“It was instinct.” Clarke says “she’d do the same for me.”

Bellamy smiles at her once more before turning and jogging to the bar. As soon as he returns with some ice Octavia pushes him out of the way, “Clarke what the hell was that? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…”

“You shouldn’t have got involved. It was my fight.”

“Two against one? Sounds fair.”

“I’m serious.” She leans forward and starts examining her face the way Bellamy had, “I’m sorry. I really am, I didn’t mean for it to…”

“Octavia it’s fine. I think I may have actually done more damage to her than she did to me.”

“There was a lot of blood.” Raven beams as she hobbles up next to them “how did you manage that?”

“That self-defense class my Dad made me take,”

Octavia groans when she notices the purple bruise already forming on the right side of Clarke’s forehead. “I really didn’t mean for this to happen and…”

“Octavia!” Harper yells “Your boyfriend is outside looking for you!”

Her eyes get wide and the guilt on her face seems to triple “Clarke I….you’re okay right? I just need to…”

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you…”

“Go Octavia.”

She squeezes her hand one more time before heading back through the crowd towards the front doors. Clarke takes the ice off of her hand and presses it against her head. It’s starting to feel better….maybe Anya is getting a little out of shape. She looks up when Raven makes a subtle sound of pain and shoots out of her chair.

“Sit down you idiot.” She says “You shouldn’t have gotten involved in that! God, is your knee okay? Did you fall?”

“Back off Clarke, I’m fine. You should be thanking me, I got a good swipe in with these babies.” She raises her crutches and smiles. 

“This is been the most ridiculous night.”

“Which is exactly why we’re closing early.” Bellamy comes up from behind her carrying the purse she had slung over her chair before the fight. “Wick’s closing up, you’re coming with me.”

Clarke ignores the smug look on Raven’s face and shakes her head “No. No I need…”

“I need to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I’m the doctor here Bellamy, I think I’d know if….”

“Clarke, stop fucking arguing with me. You just took a punch from a woman that hates me because of a fight my sister started. Let me make sure you’re alright.”

“I told you I’m…”

“Just humor me alright? You’re drunk, you’ve been punched in the face, just let me keep an eye on you until we’re both sure that you’re alright.”

“I need to shower…”

“I have a shower.”

Ravens eyebrows have now disappeared into her hairline. Clarke can practically hear the smart ass comment coming so she grabs her purse from Bellamy and adjusts the ice pack on her head. “Fine, okay. Fine, let’s just go.”

He smiles and fishes his car keys from his pocket.

“Not a word” she hisses to Raven as she follows him from the bar “do you have a ride?”

“Yeah uh…” the smile drops from her face “Wick said…you know…I’ll get a ride with him.”

Clarke opens her mouth and Raven holds up a crutch threateningly “Not a word.”

 

They’re pretty quiet on the ride home. Clarke because she’s still trying to process the last half hour and Bellamy because he’d seen Octavia and Lincoln having a heated conversation behind her car. When they pull into the Blakes’ drive way, Bellamy helps her unbuckle her seat belt and rushes around to open the car door for her.

“I really am okay.” She says, glancing up at the building behind their house where she can see the lamp she’d left on in her living room. “My hand feels better, my head is fine.”

“I thought we agreed that you’d humor me?”

“Yeah, but I literally live right there and…”

“And you live alone, so if your head does start hurting or if you pass out in the shower no one would be able to help you.”

“Bellamy,”

“Just give it an hour and then I’ll walk you home alright?”

“Fine,” she huffs like she’s annoyed but she’s actually truly flattered that he seems to care this much about her wellbeing. Of course she’s always known that Bellamy is a good person deep down, but they’d always clashed so much that having an actual friendship with him never seemed like a real possibility. In light of all this….well she may have been wrong about that. 

Their house is just as organized as it always is. Bellamy is like that. Octavia hates it. Clarke tosses her purse onto their couch as Bellamy starts to turn on the lights. 

“I don’t know if O is coming home tonight.” He says bitterly “she hasn’t texted me so…”

“Speaking of, I may need to borrow a charger. I think my phone is dead.” When she pulls her phone from her pocket, the caps of every bottle of beer she’d drank that night fall onto the floor. _One, two, three, four._ (Miller had looked at her like she was crazy every time she’d asked to keep it).

Bellamy stares at them. “I uh…keep track.” She explains. A trick she’d learned to keep herself from ever having to get her stomach pumped again.

He nods, “Counting calories Princess?”

“Not exactly.”

He looks up at her “Yeah.” He says “You shouldn’t….I mean I shouldn’t have asked you to come tonight. I shouldn’t have pressured you…”

“You didn’t.” she says sharply “It’s not a big deal. I can have a few drinks Bellamy.”

“It is a big deal.”

She turns and glares at him.

“I remember the weekend before you left Arizona,” he says “after…… Wells Jaha. Octavia asked me to swing by your house and drop off leftovers because Abby was working late and she didn’t think you were eating enough. I found you sitting on your stairs drinking whiskey out of a wine glass.”

She doesn’t answer him. There’s a cold stab of embarrassment that she hasn’t felt in a while. She doesn’t remember that. 

“Your smoke alarms were going off and your back door was wide open. You were burning some painting in one of your trashcans in the backyard. I had to put it out with the hose before the neighbors called the fire department.”

She knows that she burned Wells’ painting and that she ruined the trashcans because she and her mother had a giant fight over it the next morning, but she definitely doesn’t remember Bellamy being there.

“I know you probably don’t remember,” he says “you were all but passed out. I never told anyone, not even you.”

“Thanks for that.” she can’t look at him when she says it. That’s not who she is anymore, so there’ no reason to be ashamed but…she had always thought that she’d fooled her friends. Then again, Bellamy Blake has never really been her friend, right?

He looks like he doesn’t really know what to say. So he just nods and points her towards his bathroom. “I can get you a sweatshirt to wear,” he says “since your shirt is….you know…covered with Anya’s blood.”

He’s smiling again. “You say that like I slayed some kind of dragon.”

“Her nose will probably never look the same again.”

Clarke groans “I’m a doctor. I shouldn’t have done that…..or I should have at least offered to help her set it.”

“Yeah, like she was going to let you touch her face after that.” He hands her a sweatshirt that was sitting folded on top of a basket of laundry outside of his bedroom “Indra will be out for your blood tomorrow.”

“I’m not afraid of Indra.”

She wonders if her smile is as dopey as his.

“You know what Rocky Balboa? I think you’re still a little drunk.”

“No, I think taking a punch to the face did a good job of sobering me up.”

“Still…I’ll make you some coffee.”

“I barely like coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get over yourself and drink it. Its only polite after all.”

He walks away and she disappears behind his bathroom door and it only feels a little bit awkward. Mostly it just feels…..charged. They aren’t even in the same room, but she can still feel it because she’s naked….and he knows she’s naked….and she knows he knows she’s naked and he’s really only a few walls away from her. She doesn’t feel drunk anymore…but she certainly does feel something, and as much as she tries not to think about it (because seriously how fucking inappropriate) as she scrubs the blood from her knuckles, washes her hair, and dries herself off with the only clean towel she can find, between the smell of his shampoo and the sweatshirt he gave her to wear…..God, she’s doing a terrible job. 

This is probably just part of the game they’d been playing with each other for years, the bickering, the underhanded flirting, the stupid fucking sexual tension. It’s exhausting really and as much as she appreciates how generous he’s been tonight….she’s not about to let him have the upper hand.

So yeah she's probably still a little bit drunk when she decides to forgo putting her jeans back on. She marches out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam wearing nothing but his sweatshirt and her underwear (its long enough to cover everything that needs covering) and when she finally makes it to the kitchen and he turns to ask her some stupid question about the coffee she doesn’t even really want, she gets exactly the reaction she was hoping for. He’s switched his jeans for a pair of loose basketball shorts and his button down for an old ASU T-shirt. Clarke can see every muscle in his body tense as he looks at her…in fact she’s pretty sure she can see the blood draining from his face and racing somewhere much further south. He’s completely caught off guard for the first time in all the years Clarke has known him. She raises her eyebrows at him and without saying a word climbs up onto the counter and crosses her feet in front of her. 

“Well,” he finally says (after shaking his head like a wet dog and looking around like he’s forgotten where he is) “it seems like you’ve made yourself right at home.”

She nods and brushes some loose hair out of her eyes….filching as she accidently touches the bruise.

“Here, let me see it.” He walks over and stands in front of her, staring at her forehead like he actually has the ability to diagnose her with anything.

“Stop pretending like you’re the doctor here Blake.” He catches her eye and smirks.

“It’s annoying right? Kind of like dealing with a Capitan who thinks she’s a coach.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and waits for him to back out of her personal space…..he doesn’t. Instead, he stares at her, his smirk slowly fading into something that looks almost confused.

“You seem distracted.” She says, batting her eyelashes dramatically.

It takes him a second to come back to himself, but he snorts and steps away from her. “Just making sure you’ll be fit to play tomorrow Princess.” He says.

“Oh right,” she smirks “my mistake.”

He narrows his eyes at her “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just sitting here, waiting for my coffee.” She scoots herself back further and the sweatshirt rides up on her thighs. She realizes how ridiculous this is, she’s already been in a bar fight tonight how is flirting with Bellamy Blake even kind of a good idea? And this is not the sweet innocent flirting they’ve been known to do on special occasions….this is the kind of flirting that ends in clothing hitting the floor. This is probably the worst idea she’s ever had but….she’s on some kind of high and the look in his eyes is incredible and Clarke Griffin has never backed down from anything in her life.

Of course, neither has Bellamy Blake. He nods his head dramatically and walks towards her again. He sets his arm next to her thigh (his fingers “accidently” brushing against her) and leans forward to get a glass from the cupboard behind her head.

“Am I in your way?” she asks. When she turns her head he’s looking right at her, so close their noses practically touch. He smiles as she shifts away from him.

“Nope.” 

“I know you think this is a game,” she says when he pulls away from her and closes the cupboard, “but it’s pretty clear that I’m winning.”

He laughs and sets the glass down, stepping between her legs and placing one hand against the counter on either side of her hips, totally caging her in. “Is that so?”

He’s smiling that irritatingly handsome smug-ass smile, but for once she doesn’t blush. Instead she leans forward and watches his face falter slightly. Her toes swing back and forth, brushing against the material of his shorts. 

“Bellamy, I’ve been winning since I walked out here.”

“You mean with the unfair advantage of being half naked?”

“Unfair advantage huh?” she says “well I can just go grab my….”

He sets his hands on her thighs to keep her in place. His fingers, long and warm, start to move back and forth in the same rhythm as her feet. 

“I think you’re overestimating your effect Princess.” He mumbles.

She laughs and her foot swings up a little higher, just barely brushing the evidence that she isn’t overestimating her effect at all. “Really?”

He closes his eyes and leans forward, letting out a breath into the crook of her neck. “Is this really something you want to get into?”

She smiles and tilts her head so she can speak directly into his ear, “Scared?”

“Of the woman who took down the big bad Anya Forrest?” his breath tickles her cheek, “only a little.”

His fingers lightly trail over her bruise again and she watches his eyes follow them. He looks guilty, like he may be about to pull away from her and suggest that she get some more ice and a good night’s sleep. That would be the smart thing to do….the right thing to do…. But all she can think about now is his lips. So she grips his shirt, pulls him closer, and kisses him when he tries to question her.

It escalates quickly. One minute he’s kissing her like she’s about to break and the next his tongue is in her mouth and his hands are on the back of her neck. She can feel him smile every time she can’t help but make a little noise, but it’s not really embarrassing. Honestly it just eggs her on….which is dangerous. The first time she bites his bottom lip he stops moving completely and lets out a groan so quiet that she has to make him do it again just to be sure she really heard it. 

“I’m definitely winning.” She says against his mouth when she feels him brush against her calf. 

“You think so?” his fingers press into her thighs “This isn’t doing anything for you huh?” His lips leave her mouth and drag across her jawline.

“Nope.” She says in an embarrassingly breathy voice. She’s about to remind him not to leave a mark when she feels his hands start to slide upwards, pulling her knees farther apart and pushing his sweatshirt up over her stomach, just below her breasts. He brushes his fingers against her skin. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re a liar.” He says in a low voice. 

She’s definitely a liar…and a liar that should have put her bra back on at that… but she refuses to give in, even when her deep breaths push her flesh further into his hands. He curses under his breath and steps even closer to her. She waits until he looks back at her and raises her eyebrows like she’s no more interested in him than she would be watching the weather channel. He makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a growl and kisses her again, drawing her bottom lip between his own. His hand moves back down her torso, drifting across her skin, barely even touching her. She jumps when his thumb finally brushes the lace of her underwear. 

His lips stop moving and his forehead falls forward to rest against hers. She can feel the blush cover her face with every movement of his thumb against the wet fabric. “Fuck, you are such a liar.” He groans “such a fucking liar.”

She lets out a small laugh and pulls his mouth back to her own. He keeps whispering nonsense about calling it a tie and she’s just…..she just feels really happy, like she isn’t at all nervous about the tournament in the morning, like she hadn’t taken a punch from a MMA fighter not two hours ago. She feels like a teenager whose only concern is not getting caught by her parents…and in this moment Bellamy feels like the dangerously attractive boyfriend her mother had never let her have. 

He’s kissing her slower than she thought possible, one of his hands pressed against her back. It’s getting to be hot, way too hot, she’s half tempted to just rip the sweatshirt off and be done with it, I mean they’ve already crossed the line as far as what is or isn’t appropriate behavior in a kitchen, so why not? But before she can drag her hands from his hair to the hemline of the sweatshirt, his fingers push her underwear to the side and her head falls back against the cupboard with a >em>thunk.

She hears him saying her name against her throat, saying it like he expects a response but she can’t think. She’s pretty sure that all of this is a fantasy…that Anya had actually knocked her unconscious and she’s really laying on the floor at the bar trapped in her own head….fantasizing about him and his lips and his ….hands.

“Clarke?” he stops moving and waits for her to open her eyes. “Is this…..do you really want this?” 

She looks him dead in the eye and nods “Yes.”

“You’re sure you’re not…drunk or…..concussed.”

“Bellamy.” She rolls her eyes and kisses him. “If I didn’t want this, you would be the one concussed.”

He laughs and kisses her again…and again….and again for what feels like hours. His shirt ends up hitting the floor, his shorts riding low on his hips, her underwear hooked around her ankle, and his smirk against her lips. She nearly knocks the mug from the counter next to her when he sinks down to his knees and drags his lips against the inside of her knee. 

“You have no idea,” he mumbles “how many times I’ve thought about this.” He drags her forward. “Clarke, I…”

“BELLAMY! PLEASE TELL ME CLARKE IS HERE!” 

Octavia’s voice is like a pin popping a hot air balloon. Clarke all but kicks Bellamy in the face as she jumps down from the counter and trips over her underwear. Bellamy struggles to get his footing, hitting his head against the oven when he bends over to grab his shirt and pull it over his head. They can hear Octavia’s footsteps approaching the kitchen, one look at the blush on Clarke’s face and the tightness of Bellamy’s shorts would make it incredibly obvious what they were just doing. 

“I’ll go distract her.” Clarke whispers “you just….take care of…that.”

He glares at her and then fumbles past and sprints to the bathroom.

“Bell what the…” Octavia says.

Clarke takes a few deep breaths and steps out into the living room to intercept her.

“Hey!”

She jumps, “Oh, Clarke you scared the shit out of me. Twice actually, I walked back in the bar and you were gone, you weren’t answering your phone, I couldn’t find Raven. Are you okay? How’s your head? I can run you to the……” she stops talking and finally takes a good look at Clarke. “You’re not wearing pants.” She says with a confused sort of smile “and that’s Bell’s….” her eyes go wide “wait, did I….I didn’t like interrupt anything did I…you weren’t…”

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” Clarke snaps “He lent me this because my clothes had blood on them.”

“Are you sure? Because you look all….”

“Flustered? Probably because I was in a bar fight don’t you think?”

Octavia keeps staring at her “I wouldn’t be mad you know….if there was something going on, I mean…somehow that would just make sense. You and Bellamy, we’ve always said…”

“We aren’t having this conversation Octavia. I told you nothing was going on….”

“Yeah, but I don’t believe you and I promise you you can tell me the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth. Now can we just…..drop this before your brother gets out of the bathroom?”

She still doesn’t really look convinced. It’s more of a look of resilience, “I'm pretty sure he’s been into you for a long time Clarke.” She says “so if something did….. justdon’t lead him on.”

“I’m not…”

“You’re walking around wearing nothing but his favorite hoodie! Look, I love you. You took a punch for me tonight and I'd do the same for you in a heart beat. I know you’ve been through a lot and I know you’re not exactly looking for a relationship. If you have some kind of feelings for Bellamy I can respect that, but I’m asking you to please not use my brother as a play thing.”

"i would never..." She can’t meet Octavia’s eyes, not when she's making so much sense. Clarke has no idea what kind of feelings she has for Bellamy….there was obviously something there, but ….it was probably something Clarke didn’t have time for, something that would end up hurting too much in the long run. For those few moments tucked away in Bellamy's kitchen Clarke had forgotten that they were both real people, living in the real world. Octavia was right.

It’s not a game.

“I’m gonna go change,” Octavia says, “Do you need…”

“No, I’m just gonna grab my jeans from the bathroom and take off.”

“Clarke I don’t want this to be awkward…”

“It’s not.” She says with a smile “It’s just been a long night and we have an early morning tomorrow.”

Octavia nods “So I’ll see you in the morning?”

The bathroom door creaks open and Octavia starts to rush towards her room.

“See you in the morning.” Clarke calls after her.

Bellamy walks in already blushing. “Clarke , I’m really sorry…”

“Don’t be. It’s like I just told O, it’s been a really long night.”

“Yeah, yeah it has.” 

She walks past him, careful not to touch him, and grabs her jeans from the bathroom floor, pulling them on without noticing Bellamy watching her from the open doorway.

“Listen,” she says when she finally looks up, “I’m gonna head home.”

“You don’t have to…I mean you can stay.”

She speed walks to the living room and grabs her purse from the couch. “No, I think its uh, I think it’s better this way.”

His jaw clenches, “So you’re running?”

“No. I’m walking home because we have an early morning tomorrow. Don’t make this into more than it is.”

He narrows his eyes, clearly picking up on how panicked she sounds. “What did O say to you?”

“Bellamy…”

“You know what? It’s fine Clarke, really. I get it.”

He’s looking at her like he wants her to argue, but something tells her she’ll never be able to walk out of there if she does, so instead she shoots him a small smile and heads to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

All she can do now is hope that dodging Indra on the field is as easy as dodging whatever is going on between her and Bellamy.

**Part 3 coming soon!**


	3. 3

When she wakes up the next morning her head is pounding and her cell phone is ringing.

“Hello?”

“Clarke,” Raven says “Bellamy texted me and asked if I would call to make sure you’re awake.”

“Uh huh,” she falls back into her pillows and rubs a hand over her face.

“It’s a little weird. I mean you two seemed fine last night.”

“Yeah.”

“Did something happen?”

She yawns “It’s just Bellamy being Bellamy.”

“Clarke, you need to wake up. You’re supposed to be up at the bar in an hour.”

“I am up.” She yawns again but forces herself to sit up.

“How’s the head?”

“Not great.”

“You gonna be able to play?”

“Of course.”

“Okay Cap, I have to go. Jasper and I are supposed to be picking up the van. I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“and Clarke…whatever went on with Bellamy….you should fix it before the games start. He’s got a lot on the line and….”

Clarke hangs up on her without any remorse. She feels numb – not just in that sore spot on the side of her forehead but everywhere- inside- she flips that switch she usually only saves for bad days at work, when things are going horribly wrong but she can’t afford to have actual human emotions. 

Flipping that switch is something she learned from her mother. It’s probably going to come in handy today.

She showers, dresses, and stretches , ignoring her phone as it buzzes at almost regular intervals. She’s got 17 text messages by the time she grabs her keys and rushes out the door.  
Only four of them are from Bellamy – which surprises her. She was half expecting him to text her a novel about responsibility and the importance of not holding grudges. He can be painfully hypocritical sometimes.

When she gets to the bar everyone is lined up outside wearing their T-shirts. Octavia is sitting on the curb- intricately French braiding Monroe’s hair. They all call out to her in greeting when she walks by- Jasper leans out the passenger side of the van and starts singing “The Eye of the Tiger” at her- everyone else seems pretty reluctant to bring up last night’s bar fight. She must look pretty unamused.

“Ready?” Raven asks when Clarke tosses her bag into the back of the van. 

“Of course,” she says- but she does remember one thing, grabbing a sharpie from Raven’s clipboard she tries to distract her friend from what she’s doing as she brings the marker to the inside of her wrist. “Why does the van smell like fried chicken?” she asks.

Raven snorts, “Jasper and Wick are eating gas station fried chicken for breakfast.”

When she’s finished she hands the marker back to Raven and folds her arms. “Were you just waiting on me?” she tries to sound casual, “Where’s Bellamy?”

“Already at the field.” Raven says. She looks like she may be thinking about asking about last night again, so Clarke claps her hands together, “So we can go then?”

Raven nods, Clarke rounds up the troops. “Alright ladies, into the van- we’ve only got an hour and half till game time.”

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The field looks more like a festival- booths and vendors framing a stretch of land divided into two playing fields. People are already everywhere- there’s music playing- it smells like fried dough. Despite her bad mood- Clarke smiles when she climbs out of the van and takes a deep breath. Her team is obviously excited- jittering and talking as they walk through the crowd to whatever gathering area was designated for them. They spot Monty and Miller over at the DJ booth, Murphy is in line for a corndog, the only one who is MIA is Coach Blake. 

“Alright” Raven calls out when they all pile their bags next to a small paper sign that says _100_. “First thing’s first, before you get all muddy and bloody and sweaty, we need to get a team picture! Where the hell is Bellamy?!”

He wanders over a minute or so later, his phone to his ear, carefully not making eye contact with her, or anyone else for that matter. 

Raven stands in front of them and places them for the picture- with a stack of phones in her hand she snaps what must be about 30 pictures. The very last one she calls out “Alright- funny one!” Before Clarke can even turn her head, Octavia practically jumps on her- trapping her in a mock headlock that makes her laugh out loud despite her greatest efforts to appear gloomy. That’s when she catches a glimpse of it, drawn in block letters, black against the skin of Octavia’s wrist. **JG**

“O, what is…” she grabs her friends hand and turns it upwards. She gets a little teary eyed when she actually sees it. It’s in the exact spot as hers. 

Octavia’s eyes widen. She pulls her arm back against her chest and flinches, like she actually thinks Clarke would be upset. “It’s…I saw you do it and I just thought…” she touches the patch on the sleeve of her T-shirt. “your Dad was a good man.”

They hug for a long time- so long that Bellamy actually has to whistle to get their attention. “Time to warm up.” He says- looking at them both with an extreme amount of poorly concealed affection. Clarke tries not to think about it, but she misses three of four easy passes and realizes that that’s a lot easier said than done.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Raven hisses at her. “You nervous?”

“No,” Clarke says rolling her shoulder a bit, “I – uh,” she takes another snap and waits to throw the ball to Fox as Raven watches her critically, “I made out with Bellamy last night.” As she says it, the ball hits it’s mark- landing perfectly in Fox’s outstretched hands. When Clarke turns her head Raven is just staring at her, gripping her crutches like she’s considering using them as weapons again.

“The night before the game,” she says “he kissed you the night before the game?! Is he out of his fucking mind!?”

“We kissed each other, it wasn’t just him.”

“Well you’re both fucking idiots.” She groans, “My God, does anyone else know?”

“No,” she says, throwing another pass to Harper – who drops it in her haste to celebrate the fact that she caught it in the first place, “and I want to keep it that way. I just needed to tell someone.”

“Just so you know,” Raven says, “if we lose because of this- I will blame you both of you.”

“Blame Jasper,” Clarke mumbles, “if he hadn’t broken your leg, I wouldn’t need to be here.”

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They play ARK first. It’s not exactly a bar- more like an eco-friendly new-age type restaurant that would probably be a hipster haven if Jaha wasn’t such a hard ass, not that he had much to do with the day to day operations of the place. It was his son’s dream once – and then tragedy struck. Clarke always sort of blamed Jaha for that night, and just about anyone who knew her was well aware of that. There’s a degree of awkwardness when she and Octavia walk to the center of the field for the coin toss. She can feel Bellamy’s eyes on her back as she stands there smiling politely at the two girls across from them. 

Coin toss goes in their favor. They get the ball first.

It’s pretty clear that this isn’t going to be a challenge right from the start. The ARK is clearly just in this to have fun, giggling even when they drop the ball for the fifth time. 

Clarke doesn’t take it easy on them. She has Monroe in the end zone three drives in a row. They literally run the same play over and over. Before she even knows it the score is 21-0. Bellamy is still on the sidelines calling the game like it’s a damn super bowl. She can see everyone getting bored – even in the crowd. So the next time they’re in the huddle she decides to have a little fun.

“Do you guys remember that play we ran the last day of practice? The statue of liberty?”

Fox’s head perks up. “The trick one?” she asks excitedly. “where I run behind you-“

“Yes.” Clarke grins.

It never really worked in practice- but Clarke knows this time will be different. She can feel it from the second the ball touches her fingers. Her arm extends back and she drops it right into Fox’s hands. She hears the crowd start to cheer the moment something they didn’t expect starts to happen. Fox takes off like a rocket- cheering as she races down the sidelines completely untouched. 

Clarke doesn’t join in on the celebration in the end zone – instead she rushes to the sideline with a smile.

Bellamy is glaring at her, the first actual words he says to her are practically screamed in her face. 

“What the fuck was that?” He demands as he follows her off the sideline.

She glances up at the guy changing the number on the scoreboard. “They call that a touchdown.”

When she tries to reach for a bottle of water, he rips it from her hand. “That wasn’t the play I called.”

“We wouldn’t have scored with the play you-”

“Clarke!” he moves his face until she’s looking him in the eye, “You are not the coach. You can’t just do whatever the fuck you…”

“We scored,” she says, grabbing the bottle back. “That’s all that matters! It’s not even a close game! Calm down!”

“Whether or not we scored isn’t the fucking point! You need to stop acting like you’re in charge of this team!”

“Grow up.”

They’re really close to each other- their fingers nearly brush, she can definitely smell the gum he’s chewing. He glances down at her lips and the look in his eyes is enough to startle her into stepping back.

“Next time I call a play, you’d better damn well listen!” he says, shaking his head like it would make him look any less flustered.

They win 35-0. It’s a real morale booster. Clarke swears she sees Bellamy crack a smile as they all rush off the field – almost.

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The next game doesn’t come so easy.

They’re playing Mount Weather – the Sports bar on Reaper Street. Bellamy is not fond of the snobby frat boy that owns the bar- Mr. Cage. He’s a dick and his bar is pretty much always serving minors and hosting a little bit less than legal gambling events. Cage has deep pockets, so he gets away with most of it. He participates in this tournament to keep up appearances. Clarke knew going into it that Bellamy wouldn’t be able to take this game lightly- even if it was the Grounders he was most anxious about.

He gives them a short speech about not getting cocky, shoots a couple of discreet comments Clarke’s way – about keeping a cool head and sticking to the game plan. He looks confident and that combined with their first win seems to keep the team’s spirits raised.

That is until half time, when the Mountain is leading 14-0.

“What the hell is going on out there?” Bellamy demands, “it’s like watching a different team.”

Clarke starts to open her mouth to take the blame – their plays just weren’t coming together, one little mistake turned into another, which turned into another and she was sure Bellamy blamed her, before she can voice her concerns Octavia steps forward. 

“It’s my fault," she says. She’d dropped the ball twice – ran a wrong route- Clarke had watched her start to get frustrated.

“You were doing great earlier,” she says to her, “what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Octavia snaps, “I don’t what happened I’m just-“

“You’re letting yourself get nervous.” Bellamy says, “stop thinking about the next game and focus on the one we’re playing now. If we don’t win this, then we don’t face the-“

“I know that Bellamy,” she shakes her hands out, “I’m fine. I’m fine, I can do this.” She turns and faces the team, “I’m sorry,” she says. Everyone waves her off- because they’d all made a few stupid mistakes. They head back out to the field and Clarke decides that she’s going to take it on herself to change the momentum.

The third quarter goes by with very little offensive success for either team. The Mountain has speed that they don’t – but Clarke knows that they’re smarter than them, that and Cage is a cocky little shit.

As the clock starts to wind down in the 4th – and Bellamy is crouched down on the sideline staring at them like he’d actually be able to control them with his mind – Clarke sees their first opportunity of the day.

Bellamy calls a simple pass play – just so they can move the ball enough to get a first down. It’s third and eight- and they’ve still got 25 yards to go to the endzone. Clarke sees the play laid out in front of her when she snaps the ball – but they see it too, in a matter of seconds the field becomes jumbled. So she takes a risk – a calculated one, but certainly a risk. She turns on her feet and runs out towards the sideline, cutting it at the last second and taking off down the field. 

She surprised them – and in doing so gave herself enough of a head start. They don’t even come near her until she’s five yards away, and with some kind of crazy spin move that is entirely instinctual she shakes the girl reaching for her off and collapses over the line. The refs raise their arms and blow their whistles. When Clarke sits up to check that she scored she’s immediately surrounded by her team- yelling and cursing and praising her for being an “unbelievable fucking bad ass.” When she’s pulled to her feet- she rushes off to the sideline so they can kick their extra point. This time when Bellamy approaches her- he’s not doing that great of a a job pretending to be angry.

“We talked about this,” he says.

She takes a drink, “It was more like yelling – but I see your point.”

“Griffin-“

“Can’t we just do this together?” she meets his eyes and his shoulders relax. “Give me some credit Bellamy, you don’t have to do this on your own.”

“I just want to make sure I can trust you-“

“I think I’ve proved that you can.” She slams the bottle down and starts to walk away.

“Princess,” he calls out, “next time put your shoulder down.”

She flips him off over her shoulder and finds Octavia on the sideline. They’ve only got five minutes to score again.

Thankfully, after an incredibly unsuccessful offensive series- Cage gets cocky again. His quarterback tries to throw downfield on their first play- and as Clarke and the rest of the team watch nervously on the sideline, Monroe comes out of nowhere and swipes the ball from the air. They follow her down the sideline as she runs – the Mountain’s shocked offense in her wake. She flips into the end zone, spiking the ball on the ground and opening her arms to embrace her teammates. 

Her interception brought the score to 14-13, with less than a minute left they have a chance to tie the game. Bellamy calls Clarke over with that familiar intensity in his eyes.

“We’re going for it.” He says.

“Of course we are.”

“Do you want the ball?”

She hesitates for a minute- staring out into the crowd trying to decide whether she trusted herself enough. A woman catches her eye, her hair perfectly arranged and a scarf wrapped neatly around her neck. Clarke has to blink a few times- because the large sunglasses on her face almost make it impossible to recognize her – but the slightly pretentious half-smile is unmistakable, her mother is sitting in the grandstands watching her. She hadn’t even told her about this tournament. 

“Clarke-“

She jerks her head back to Bellamy who is looking at her frantically. “Griffin I need to know if you can do this-“

“I can.” She says quickly, “I can do it. Give me the ball.”

He smiles at her – and for a few seconds she forgets that technically they’re sort of fighting. “You’re call,” he says. 

They have to get the two point conversion or it’s over- their best option is to try and trick them again, run a variation of one of their earlier plays, only this time, Clarke would hold onto the ball and with any luck, be in the end zone before the even realize what’s going on. So she calls the play, and they line up. She can feel Bellamy’s eyes on her – the eyes of the entire crowd, which she now knows includes her mother. Raven is screaming from the sidelines. Clarke’s hands are sort of shaking. The words come out of her mouth and before she knows it the ball is in her hands. She pretends to pass it off to Fox, concealing the ball in her arms. As soon as she sees a hole she pushes herself into it, keeping her shoulders low.  
She doesn’t open her eyes until she hears the whistles – and then the cheers. The man on the intercom starts to yell “The 100 take them game, the 100 win 15-14!”

They have twenty minutes before the final game. The Grounders’s game ends just a few moments before their own. They destroy a bar from North street 45-6. 

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo 

Clarke and her team sit around in their “team area,” half out of breath from celebrating. They watch the crowds from the two different fields merge together, while music blares over the speakers. Bellamy has disappeared to talk to Murphy and Miller. Raven is helping Monroe fix one of her braids. Wick is pestering Harper about drinking more water. Before Clarke knows it – while she’s busy scanning the crowd trying to find her mother, both teams are called to the booth at the end of the filed for introductions.

It’s corny, and sort of ridiculous. Clarke was dreading it in a way, but she follows her team with a tense knot in her stomach. Her head had started to ache, the bruising around her eye serving as a reminder from the night before. There’s a pissed off part of her that wants this win more then she realizes, not only so Bellamy can win his money, but because she doesn’t want Anya to delude herself into thinking that Clarke is weak. 

She needs everyone to know that she’s not afraid.

So when the man on the microphone starts calling out their names – with the crowd screaming and Grounders out there waiting for them– Clarke pulls her team into a huddle. “Hey,” she says, “I know everyone has been reminding us that this is just for fun – but I want you guys to know that I’m in this. I want to win this, not just for the bar but for ourselves.” She points over her shoulder, “they think we’re afraid of them. They think we’re weak and this may be just a game but they’re going to use it to try to prove that. We’ve worked our asses off, and you all have been – absolutely fantastic today, but this game is going to be different. I know you may be nervous, but I need you at your best. I need you to trust me, and Bellamy –“ she glances over at Octavia who is staring at the ground, “and I need you to believe in yourselves. I’m going to do this – I’m going to win, and I guess I’m just hoping you ladies are willing to follow me.”

She sticks her hand out with a grin – perfectly aware how corny this whole thing is – they pile their hands on top of theirs with nervous laughter. The music is louder, the man takes a deep breath and yells out “The ladies of the 100!”

They all look at her and she grins, turning on her heel and walking calmly onto the field. They all follow her lead, strutting with a cool and collected casual walk that doesn’t make the crowd seem any less excited. Anya and Indra stand side by side next to the referee. Clarke waits for Octavia to catch up to her, then she links their arms and marches towards center field. Anya’s glare is almost physically painful, and Indra mumbles a few rude comments under her breath as the ref explains the coin toss. 

Grounders call heads – the coin shows tails.

Clarke hears their sideline erupt into a cheer, she tells the ref they want the ball and he takes a step back so the team captains can shake hands. With a grip firmer than Clarke thought possible she grips Anya’s outstretched hand and pulls her towards her. Anya counters with a brief stumble and a grip that nearly dislocates her pinky.

“You don’t want to make this personal Griffin.” Anya mumbles harshly. Clarke sees some bruising around her nose – what made her feel ashamed last night gives her a little bit of confidence now. 

“I know exactly what I’m doing.” She says with a smile, “Good luck.”

Bellamy is waiting for her on the sidelines when she and Octavia approach it. He looks at his sister with concern. She’s being uncharacteristically quiet.

“You alright O?” he asks.

Clarke looks over at her. “Yeah,” Octavia says, “I just want to get this started.”

Bellamy shoots Clarke a nervous look. She takes a step closer to her friend “Octavia what is going on with you-“

“Nothing,” she says, “I just-“ she sighs and shakes her head, “Lincoln isn’t here, and after last night I just-“

“O this can’t be about last night,” Bellamy says. “You need to go out there and focus on the game-“

“I know what I need to do-“

A whistle blows and Octavia rushes away from them onto the field. Bellamy doesn’t even have time to give Clarke the speech she was sure he had been rehearsing. 

Play time was over. 

It’s brutal from the start- unnecessarily so. Indra is taking a lot of liberties with the concept of “touch” football. The first time Clarke drops back for a pass, Indra fires through the line and clotheslines her onto her back. Clarke grunts in frustration – and a little pain. She can hear Anya cackling, Bellamy screaming at the ref. She gets to her feet and brushes the dirt off. They knock her on her ass three more times that drive- but they score in the end – Clarke finding Fox in the end zone. 

It goes back and forth like that during the first half. Bellamy is incredibly tense on the sideline, unbearable really. Every time he approaches her he’s snapping about something.Octavia is still lost in her head, she fumbles the ball once- and the Grounders score just before halftime.

Bellamy breaks his clipboard.

The score is 18-14, in the Grounder’s favor, when the they take the field again. Clarke hasn’t had the pleasure of facing Anya yet- being that Bellamy refuses to let her play on defense for fear of her getting hurt, but she stands on the sidelines and watches as Harper breaks up Anya's first attempt at a touchdown pass for the quarter- and she makes eye contact with her as they walk off the field. 

In the end, after Indra “accidently” gives Octavia a bloody nose, Monroe “mistakenly” pushes Anya out of bounds and into the sideline water coolers, and the poor refs have had to threaten just about every coach and player on the team with ejection, the final moments of the fourth quarter roll around with the same 18-14 score. 

Bellamy calls a play – nervously, Clarke can see the apprehension and exhaustion on his face. She watches him over the girls’ shoulders as they stand in the huddle. He’s got his fists clenched as he stares at the scoreboard, but every once in a while his eyes dart to the field – not to her, but to his sister, who is still acting like a meek and confident clone of the Octavia they all knew and loved.

Clarke had been wrapped up in her own head most of the day, angry at Bellamy, frustrated by her fight with Anya the night before, strangely motivated by her mother’s appearance in the crowd. She’d forgotten about her friend – who’s brother depended so munch on this game, who’s boyfriends family, people who had rejected her so vehemently, lined up across from her, who wore a patch for her lost mother on her sleeve. Octavia had been struggling all day- and for that reason Clarke decided what kind of ending this game needed. 

“Okay. We only have one shot at this,” Clarke tells them, “it’s going to Octavia.”

Her head shoots up and her eyebrows raise ,“What!”

“It’s coming to you.” Clarke says – in what she thinks is a good imitation of Bellamy’s voice. 

 

“Clarke I…”

“Don’t tell me you can’t do it. I don’t want to hear that shit. We don’t have time for this. It’s coming to you, now line up.”

Octavia steps forward, “Clarke, Bellamy didn’t…”

“Listen to me, you can do this.”

Octavia looks around, taking a deep breath and nodding her head. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Get knocked down, get back up.”

“Right, now line up.”

The sun has started to set in the sky. The music is still loud and the people are cheering. Clarke watches her team line up, Octavia stares up at the sky for a minute- Clarke waits for her to look back down before lining up to snap the ball.

It happens quickly. The ball is in her hands, she takes a few steps back and watches Octavia move. Indra isn’t covering her this time – instead she’s after Octavia. Clarke can only give her three seconds to get open. She watches with shaking hands- the clock ticking down in the background. 

1

2

3

She sees Octavia turn – they make eye contact. Somewhere Bellamy is screaming “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” but it doesn’t matter because the ball is out of her hands and sailing through the air. Octavia is still moving, but she turns more at the waist and just as she disappears from Clarke’s view the crowd erupts in a cheer. Clarke takes a few more steps back and her heart leaps into her throat – there’s Octavia standing in the end zone, with the ball raised in her hands.

The score changes on the score board – 22-18 and the clock says 00:00.

There’s a silence for a few seconds – as everyone realizes that they’ve actually managed to do it, and then the crowd cheers again, louder this time- their sideline rushes onto the field. Anya overturns their only remaining water cooler. There’s a dog-pile of girls in the end zone, Octavia must be at the bottom of it. Clarke just stands there looking at them for a second- and the incredible satisfaction she feels in that moment is unbelievable. She feels tears in her eyes as she laughs and _We Are the Champions_ starts to play over the speakers. Monty, Miller, and Jasper have raised their Gatorade cooler over Bellamy’s head- he dodges out of the way just in time and Clarke watches as he rushes towards his sister with a massive smile on his face. It’s Raven that gets to her first. Hobbling out on her crutches with wild excited eyes. 

“I can’t believe we actually did it” she says.

She wraps her arms around Clarke and laughs, “I mean Bellamy was furious that you changed the play again but we won! I cannot believe that we won!”

Clarke can’t either – honestly they’d been building up to this game all day- for weeks really and now it was over. 

It was over.

Clarke joins the party down field eventually. She hugs everyone who holds their arms out to her. When she finally faces Bellamy he doesn’t even give her the chance to think about it, he pulls her to his side in a one armed hug and mumbles something about how goddamn stubborn she is. Before she knows it he’s gone again- lost in the swarm of people who are yelling about taking the party back to the bar.

Clarke is laughing and smiling – and she’s happy….she really is, but its over – and there’s a part of her that finds that really depressing. She’s been on an adrenaline high since the night before, now she’s practically bouncing on her feet and she has no idea what to do with herself.

“Clarke!”

When she hears her mother’s voice she forgets where she is for a minute, the sound conjuring images of brightly lit hospital hallways and awkward morning car rides to school in the Prius. 

“Mom,” she says- wiping some sweat from her forehead in case she decides to hug her.

She doesn’t.

“I uh- I didn’t even know that you knew about-“

“I saw the flyer at the hospital,” Abby explains, “and I saw some of your pictures on Facebook this morning- with the team.”

“Oh, well it’s – it’s great that you came.”

“It’s great that you did this,” she says, “really Clarke it’s –“she adjusts her sunglasses, “I’ve missed football actually.”

Clarke smiles. “I have too – that’s part of the reason that I decided to play.”

Abby nods and looks around awkwardly. Clarke thinks about those football games they attended together when she was in high school. When she and her mother would sit in the stands with their sunglasses on and talk about school and the hospital and whatever ridiculous thing her dad was doing on the sideline to try and make his team laugh. 

“Hey mom,” she says, “remember a few months ago when we agreed to have coffee every week. We haven’t done that yet. We should.”

Abby’s smile looks relieved. “I would like that,” she says.

“Are you free tomorrow morning?”

She looks like she’s about to reach into her bag and check her schedule but then her hand stills, “I am,” she says. “I’ll call you in the morning and we can work something out. I know you’ll probably have a long night tonight.” She looks over her shoulder where they’re trying to hoist Octavia onto their shoulders.

“No I- I don’t think I’m in the mood to celebrate.” She realizes how weird that sounds the second she says it- but its also the truth. She’s coming down off of that adrenaline high, and now all she’s really thinking about is how she’s going to explain the bruise on her face to her colleagues on Monday, and the look on Bellamy’s face when she walked away last night, and the fact that her father should be here.

“You should have fun tonight Clarke,” Abby says, “you deserve it.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Sounds good.”

xoxoxoxoxoxooxxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxooxoxoxooxoxoxox

Clarke is still in her funk as they all pile into their van. She almost runs into Bellamy as they’re packing up- literally almost runs into him. The laughing smile sort of falls from his face when he realizes that its her. He opens his mouth to say something to her – but then he closes it again, and his gaping stare just makes her more annoyed, so she slams the water bottles she’d been carrying into the back of the van and storms away. 

It occurs to her that she has no real reason to be mad at him as they drive with all the windows down- Jasper is blaring the Spice Girls from the passenger seat and she can barely hear herself think. She’s being ridiculous – she should be happy that they won and she certainly shouldn’t be annoyed with Bellamy for a make out session that she initiated and then walked out on.

The whole day had been about that game- about winning the game- about seeing Anya’s face after they won the game. And here they are- they did it, and she’s struggling to keep a smile on her face.

She has no idea what could possibly make the nagging feeling go away- and then she sees that little number 1 on the voicemail icon on her phone. The only missed call she had was from Bellamy. When they get back to the bar and Clarke gives them all excuses about having to meet her mother early in the morning, she gets into her car and listens to the voicemail he left her – which he must have been leaving her when he walked over before their picture. 

“Alright,” his voice says, “I haven’t even seen you yet- but I know what’s going to happen. This is going to be awkward and we’re probably going to yell at each other and at this point I’m just hoping that we don’t lose because of it. I’m sure you’re mad at me for something or other right now- because you probably won’t listen to this until after the tournament and that’s fine- better actually.” He takes a deep breath- Clarke thinks she can hear Raven telling him to hurry up in the background, “I don’t regret last night. I’ve thought about it over and over and Clarke- I know you and I don’t always see eye to eye, but there’s something there and no relationship has ever meant enough to me that I didn’t just go for it without thinking it through but you.... we should do this. I think we should do this. I think you should let me take you to dinner and we should talk about things that won’t lead to us screaming at each other, and then we should finish what we started in my kitchen because that was- Jesus Christ Reyes give me one fucking minute - look I have to go, I can see you glaring at me. Just- think about it. Good Luck Princess.”

And there it is – that last little spark of adrenaline reigniting in her gut

She takes her keys from the ignition and climbs out of her car, slamming her door and stalking to the entrance of the bar. Everyone is crowded around the tables in the back where Wick is laying out boxes of pizza. Clarke looks back and forth scanning the small crowd for Bellamy’s stupid head. 

The door to his office is cracked- she’s pretty sure she can hear Miller talking about that last hit Anya took.

“It was like watching a fucking train collided with the side of a mountain-“

She doesn’t knock, she kicks the door open with the side of her foot. Bellamy is sitting behind his desk, with a disinterested smile as Miller shows him pictures on his phone. They both look up when they hear the door open. Clarke knows the look on her face is incredibly serious- she intends for it to be- but when they meet her eyes, they both sort of raise their eyebrows. 

“Something I can do for you Princess?” Bellamy says, diverting his eyes back to his desk like she interrupted him doing something important. 

“Miller take a walk,” she says. 

Miller looks back and forth between them for a minute and then nods his head – skirting around Clarke and all but running from the room. 

Clarke closes the door, and intensifies her glare.

“If you’re here to demand I apologize for something, you’re gonna have to be specific about what exactly-“

“Did you seriously ask me out over voicemail?”

His mouth opens a little bit- he leans back in his chair. 

“What did you forget about it already?” she asks.

“No,” he says, “I just honestly expected you to delete it without listening to it.”

“Well I didn’t.”

There’s an awkward silence. Clarke breaks their eye contact to plop down into the chair in front of Bellamy’s desk.

He stares at her, and then raises his eyebrows with a grin, “You here to negotiate terms?”

“Don’t you think this is something we should talk about in person?” she crosses her legs and tries to pretend like this is just another argument.

“Sure,” he says, “but I’ve already said what I have to say on the matter.”

“Yeah, into a phone.”

He leans forward and nods, “Fine. I think we should go out.”

“All we do is fight.”

“True, but 80% of that is sexual tension.”

For some reason she just really wants to smile at him, “40%”

“70.”

She uncrosses and re-crosses her legs, “So-“

“So, I’m still waiting….”

“On what?”

“On you.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just because of last night?”

“I mean- it has something to with last night but it’s not like I wasn’t thinking about it before then.”

She studies him- he’s still smiling.

“Why are you looking at me like you’re trying unravel some diabolical plan?” he asks with a laugh.

“Because-“ she says, “because you call me Princess Buzzkill, and tell everyone I’m obsessed with Tim Tebow, and kick me off of the bar trivia team.”

“Okay,” he leans forward, “can’t I still do all of those things and take you to dinner?”

“You know when you make that face it makes me 50% sure that this whole exchange ends with Murphy jumping out from behind that door and making some joke about me being Punked.”

He sighs “This is typical – I bare my soul and you turn this into a military-grade interrogation.”

“Oh you _bared your soul_? You asked me to dinner over voicemail Bellamy, stop acting like you wrote me a fucking sonnet.”

He hides his face with his hands for a minute- his frustrated groan sounds just like it did every time she changed his play at the line this afternoon. She’s giving him a hard time – making a serious effort to give him a hard time – but she’s only doing it while she tries to figure out whether “dinner” would be a good idea, because it wouldn’t be just dinner – it wouldn’t be just sex. Bellamy Blake drove her crazy – in an unbelievable way, she doesn’t know much about love but she knows that means something.

“You know what,” he says, “fine. Say no right now and I’ll just ask you again tomorrow – I’ll just show up at the hospital with balloons or some shit and make a giant production-“

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Exactly! If I actually bared my soul to you, you’d kick me in the throat and I know that. I’m trying not to make this seem like a big deal Clarke.”

He really is, because he knows her. He knows how uncomfortable all that....romantic stuff makes her. He knows she swears she’s done with that. His half- ass voicemail was half- ass on purpose – and that whole thing is a total mind fuck because making an effort not to be outwardly romantic just might be the most romantic thing he could have possibly done.

“Fine,” she finally says. “Is Thursday good for you?”

He freezes and tilts his head, “Football is on-“

“Right, so we’ll just eat here –“

“I think it will be okay if we go somewhere that serves more than cheese fries and chicken wings Clarke,” he says patiently. 

“Okay,” she’s trying to seem confident but her fingers are shaking a little bit, “you pick.” She shoots to her feet and pockets her phone and avoids looking at him as she starts to walk towards his office door.

“Hey,”

She squeezes her eyes shut as his arm reaches out and keeps the door from opening.

“Here,” he holds out a football- still covered in a little bit of mud, “game ball.”

She reaches out to take it and as she does he covers her fingers with his own. “Don’t freak out about this.”

“I’m not.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“I know that.”

“So Thursday?”

“Thursday.”

 

**TWO YEARS LATER:**

“What the hell do you mean I’m not on the team?” she practically yells into the half-darkness of the room.

“Conflict of interest,” he mumbles against her throat.

“Conflict of-“ she shoots straight up – pushing him to the side. “You know what- you can just get out-“

He groans and lays back against the pillows. “I live here Princess.”

“No tonight you don’t.”

“Clarke, come on – Reyes has been training for months,”

“Okay and that’s fine, but I should still be on the team.” She slams her hands down, “you need me.”

He presses himself against her and smirks – “You’re right, I do need you.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“You’re the one changing the subject –“

“Because you cant just casually tell me I’m off the team.”

“Clarke-“ he sighs and sits up, “you’re killing the mood.”

“Explain to me why I can be on the team.”

“No.”

“Why?!”

“Because if I participate in this argument I definitely wont be getting laid tonight.”

“That ship has already sailed.” She sends him a sharp smile and sits up. Bellamy can obviously tell where she’s going the moment her feet hit the floor. He jumps up on his side and tries to beat her to the dresser where the blue notebook that had started this entire conversation sat.

“Tell me why-“

“Oh come on Princess, you know why.”

She narrows her eyes at him, “I won you that tournament for the last two years-“

“You didn’t listen to a goddamn thing I said- you did the opposite of everything I said-“

“And if I hadn’t we would have lost.”

“You’re not on the team because you don’t know how not to be the coach and I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Oh you mean like we are now?” she tries to reach for the book but his arms are much longer than his.

“This night was never mean to turn into a fight. In case you didn’t notice I was putting in a lot of effort-“

“And then you tell me I’m off the team- just casually mention it like it’s not going to piss me off!”

“You know what your problem is?” he points in her face, “you hate romance.”

“I hate romance?! “ she laughs dramatically, “The first time you told me you loved me you were screaming at me in a parking garage.”

“And that is the 47 time you’ve brought it up since,” he’s smiling now.

Clarke rolls her eyes and tries to reach for his book again, he hides it behind his back. “Hey,” he says- waiting for her to meet his eyes, “I do love you.”

She smirks, “So you keep telling me.”

He leans forward and kisses her, and she can’t help but laugh at how uncharacteristically sappy he’s being. “Stop smirking,” he says, “I really fucking love you.”

She takes a step back- finally pulling her arms back from where she was trying to grab the book behind his back. “I love you too.”

“Then stop trying to hijack my football team- and finish what you started.”

“Say I can play.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’re not getting laid.”

“You’re bartering with sex? Playing in this tournament means so much to you that you’re willing to give up your sex life?”

“Bellamy,” she goes onto her tiptoes and stares into his eyes, “Let. Me. Play.”

He takes a few breaths and tries not to look at her, this beautiful women that had somehow become the most important thing in his world. Their relationship is ridiculous – they bicker all of the time, they can never decide where to eat, Clarke works shifts at all hours of the night, Bellamy spends way too much time working at the bar, they’re both terrible at doing laundry, and using too much hot water, and avoiding washng the dishes. But he loves her, he loves that he can pick a fight with her and know that they’ll be okay. He loves that she always tries not to wake him up when she comes home, she just crawls into his arms without a word or a complaint about how messy the room is. He loves that they can go anywhere, do anything and laugh because even sitting at the DMV with her doesn’t feel like a waste of time. She stills calls him horrible things sometimes- tries to run his life, changes the play at the line – but at some point he’d grown to trust her more than he trusts himself.

“Alright fine,”

She smiles and pulls the notebook out of his hand- walking back to their bed and plopping down.

“But Reyes is my quarterback.”

“I know that.”

“and I am the coach.”

He walks towards her, smiling as she flips through the notebook and snorts under her breath. 

“You Princess,” he says, reaching down to lift her chin so she meets his eyes, “are the craziest, most ridiculously incredible fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She smiles, “Why are you being so sappy tonight?”

“Same reason you’re being such a pain in my ass.”

She throws the book to the side and scoots up onto her knees so she’s level with him. “I heard a rumor today,” she says, “something about Bellamy having a ring box in his office.”

“A ring box?” he asks- as casually as he can. 

“Jaspers words- not mine.”

“Jasper huh,” Bellamy says, “what a talkative little shit he’s turned out to be.”

“So –“ she says, “why-“

“Oh no, no, no, no.” he wraps his arms around her and laughs, “you’re not derailing this. This is my thing.”

“I’m just saying that if you were planning to-“

“You’re not calling an audible on my hypothetical proposal Clarke.”

He was expecting this- anticipating it actually. 

She sighs but presses her forehead against his, “All I’m saying is that I know I was weird about – moving too fast and commitment and-“

“Clarke- we’ve had this conversation so many times it might as well be choreographed.”

“I just want you to know that – If you do, if you want to....I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t freak out.”

“Pretty sure?” he questions.

“Almost positive.”

“Alright then, how about this. If the bar wins the tournament than I’ll tell you exactly whether that rumor you heard was true, right there on the field.”

“And if we lose?” 

“Well,” he shrugs, “then you’ll just have to wait and see.”

She shakes her head, “Everything is always a game with you.”

“Yeah but it’s been years Princess- and you’re still playing. So what does that say about you?”

They’ll spend the rest of that night trying to hide from the world in their tiny apartment. The next day they’ll go down to the bar and Clarke will announce to everyone that she’s playing in the tournament again this year, and Bellamy will take Jasper aside and put the fear of God in him for having a big mouth. Pretty soon practices will start- and Clarke will interrupt one of Bellamy's little speeches so he’ll counter by doing something immature like having “Mrs. Tebow” printed on her T-shirt instead of Griffin, and the Grounders will probably try to start shit with them again- although now that O is a cop they don’t bother to come around the bar. Everything will go pretty much the same way it has for the last two years. 

Clarke will say yes if Bellamy asks – she’ll probably still say yes even if he doesn’t. That’s the great part about it. Clarke will always change the play at the line- and Bellamy will always love her for it (even if he does break the occasional clipboard.)


End file.
